


Mobile Suit Gundam Extreme

by RockingCavalier



Category: Universal Century Gundam
Genre: CORRUPT MEGACORPORATIONS, GUITAR GUNS, Gen, Postwar Angst, Space Pirates, WHAT MORE COULD YOU WANT?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockingCavalier/pseuds/RockingCavalier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In January 0089, Neo Zeon is defeated and the AEUG is formally disbanded. But not all is well in the Earthsphere. April of that same year sees the rise of CMS, or Colonial Management Systems, a shipping magnate that quickly earns multiple Federation contracts. With the economic sanctions of May 0089, many veterans of past wars turn to space piracy. CMS, under Federation authority, builds a private army in the name of "defense". But what are their real motives?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Phase 01

_It is the year 0089. After the fall of the Titans in 0088, Haman Karn’s Neo-Zeon faction declared open war on the Federation. The war lasted early into the next year, until they were ultimately defeated with help of the Anti-Earth Union Group. The AEUG, originally created as a resistance against the cruel Titans, stepped up once again to fight off a threat to the peace of the Earthsphere. But now, the Earth Federation aims to both rebuild after a devastating war, and make the people of space pay for the war. In order to fight the Federation’s new oppressive economic policies, many veterans turn to crime to feed themselves. This is the story of one such ship of vets._

I started sleeping a lot after the war. I guess it was because I realized how nice it felt to stay in bed, not having to worry about whether or not my next resting place would be a coffin. Plus, when you slept nothing ever bugged you except your dreams, and for the most part those dreams left me alone months ago. I slept through a lot, honestly. When people ask me where I was when Haman Karn dropped a colony on Dublin, I tell the truth and say I was sleeping.

My name is- No, my name’s not important. To my associates and friends, my name is Angel. It was my handle in the Gryps War. I was born on Granada, in 0067. I joined the AEUG in 0086, at age 19. When the Gryps War began, I served on the _Hawk_ , an _Argama_ -class vessel. I flew a rick dias along with Redface and Striker. I was shot down sometime during the final battle at Gryps II. I left AEUG after that, since most members were being absorbed into the Earth Federation Space Force. That’s all I really need to share.

This all begins with me in bed. I was lying there just napping. It wasn’t time to sleep. I couldn’t say it was night, because it’s always night in space. But it wasn’t sleeping hours when the alarm went off. “All mobile suits, please prepare to launch.” Well shit, I thought, so much for sleeping _._ I rolled out of bed to get changed in my flight suit. If I was going out, it meant Junior found something.

Junior was just like his big brother. When he came to us, we could tell he had a lot of heart and dedication. When we found out he was Redface’s little brother, it cemented his position as a member of the ship. Striker and I just had to hire the kid. He was still in his mid teens, but he still could fly a suit. We put him in an eye-zack. It was one of the few mobile suits we picked up legally from Anahiem. He did the scouting duty for us, looking for either good targets or incoming threats. He never had any combat training, but none of us wanted to put the kid in harm’s way, as a service to his brother.

All dressed up, I put my flowing red hair into its ponytail and grabbed my helmet. I began floating down the halls to the hangar.

The _Vulture_ had character. It was still an _Argama_ -class, but Striker did a great job fixing it up. It probably felt so familiar because a lot of it was made from the _Hawk_. The _Hawk_ got trashed at Gryps II, but Striker spent over a year scrounging for the parts to re-build it. And the new name fit the ship’s legal purpose: to the Federation we were scavengers, picking up scrap from wars past and selling it to junk guilds. But outside of that, we were pirates. With Federation trade limitations, spacenoids everywhere suffered. We were the Robin Hoods of space- we took from the oppressors and gave to all the oppressed.

Behind the _Vulture’s_ mission was Captain Andrew Hass, AKA Striker. He didn’t like the old war title though. And Captain Hass had a nice ring to it. Hass stood a few inches above me, with messy dark hair on his head and a goatee on his chin. I was the first one he recruited, being drudged up from some shitty trash-moving job to be one of his pilots. We picked up the rest through contacts, but they came to us mostly.

As I navigated the halls, I could hear the crew move to battle positions. I floated over some of the rushing engineers until I reached the MS Deck. I could see Oldman’s MS moving to the airlock. The rick dias took a few steps and entered. When we were sure it was safe, the door closed behind him.

Oldman got his name for being the oldest guy on the ship. He had to be in his 50’s or 60’s. The guy was a One Year War vet, fought for the Federation. But after the Delaz crisis, he resigned in disgust. He said it just wasn’t the same Federation he gave his eye for at Odessa. Everyone had nothing but respect for him. Even with just one eye and grey hair, he was a damn good pilot. Rumor had it that after Odessa they asked to give him a cybernetic eye, but he refused to put any machinery in his skull. Either way, everyone looked up to the man.

I grabbed a soda as I saw the sign hanging from the ceiling tell us that he launched from the catapult. No other suits were moving, so I was next. I chugged the can to get my jolt of caffeine. I liked to have some in my system to wake me up. Gearhead was over talking to some techs. “Am I good to launch?” I shouted over to him. I got a thumbs-up in return.

Gearhead was a guy we picked up from Anaheim, who quit in protest over the company’s double-sided sales tactics. He had a bald head, wire-framed glasses, and one of the sunniest dispositions on the ship. He always had a smile, and never said a harsh word about anyone. And of course, he was obsessed with the machines, always tweaking them to get the most out of every joint.

I climbed into my own rick dias and put on the helmet. Technically, the Dias was Hass’s, left over from the Gryps War. Mine was a wreck, and Hass refused to ever get back into a cockpit after the war, so he just gave it to me. As the system booted up and the panoramic monitor showed me the MS Deck, I made sure my suit was on tight. I was running a bit behind on time, so I ignored the weapons rack and went straight to the airlock. The Dias’s built-in pistols would suffice against most targets.

I walked the suit to the airlock door. “Angel to Bridge, prepped and ready for launch.”

“Bridge to Angel, you are clear to go, proceed to the catapult.” Hass was both captain and battle advisor- He insisted on helping that way. I stepped into the airlock as the door opened. In a few seconds, the airlock was decompressed, and the second door opened, the catapult standing before me. I stepped onto it.

“Angel, rick dias, launching now!” There was a three second delay, and the catapult shot out, propelling me into the vastness of space.

My name is Angel, and this is my story.


	2. Phase 02

As I shot out into space, I recognized the red of Oldman’s rick dias. I waved. If the rick dias had a face, Oldman would probably be having an amused expression. Here I was, looking unarmed, while he had his clay bazooka in his hands. In order to avoid looking like an idiot, I drew my beam pistols. “Sleeping again?” Oldman asked. I could make out the joking expression in his voice.

I didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead I simply radioed up Junior. “Reaper here, what’s the target?”

“RoZ transport, I can see the insignia. It’s got four gelgoogs guarding it, I can confirm a visual. They’ve got beam rifles and shields. I’ll have bridge mark it on your navigation system.” I sighed in relief. RoZ meant the Republic of Zeon. I knew them all too well, since the treaty ending the One Year War and creating the Republic was signed in my home town of Grenada. I was 12 at the time. It was no secret that they were nothing like the Principality of Zeon. They were all too submissive to Federation rule. Any officers who were part of the old Zabi regime was cast out and exiled. The RoZ and its “rozzies” were never touched by Federation sanctions, a reward for their sucking up. So for that, we keep them as targets.

Using the navigation system, I could see the marked point actually directly ahead. This was a good chance to flank them. I hatched up the means of attack almost instantly. “Oldman and I will advance under them to attack from the other side. Bridge, are Harpy and Storm ready?”

Captain Hass’s voice came back to me. “Yeah, Harpy’s in the airlock now.”

“Tell them to wait around until they see a red flare, then make a beeline for the target. Don’t send over Cowboy or Grizzly until the white flare.”

“Confirmed, Angel. Over and out.” With Hass’s confirmation of my strategy, Oldman and I set out. I was the unofficial leader in the field, and Captain Hass’s right-hand man. It was a nice position, although I can’t help but feel I got it for past connections with the captain.

Oldman and I continued through space. Junior’s youthful voice chimed in. “Heads up, you’re nearing the radar bubble. You might want to dive.” One of the customizations Gearhead made to Junior’s eye-zack was a massive expansion of radar range, and the ability to detect the range of other radars. We dipped downwards until Junior told us we were deep enough. With that, we burst forward until he told us to rise. Junior was our eyes and our ears.

It only took 45 seconds for us to reach the other side of the convoy. From there, we just simply waited for it to get into position. Using a zoom feature, I located it. Taking great care to avoid targeting it directly, I pointed one hand in front of it and fired a flare. In a split second there was a sudden burst of red, alerting the enemies to our presence.

Oldman and I kicked out thrusters and charged, the rick dias’s random binder throwing us forward at them. By this point, the gelgoogs had moved to engage. I had no problem shooting first, since all they needed to do was shoot a white flare to surrender. If they didn’t want a fight, the suits would have stayed put.

The first volley of rounds came from us, with our superior suits targeting them before they targeted us. My beam pistols fired off broadly. I wasn’t aiming, so the shots could be evaded. We never shot to kill. That was a policy Captain Hass laid down. We couldn’t claim to be the good guys with blood on our hands.

            They fired back, ancient targeting systems and archaic rifles useless against our speed and maneuverability. I almost felt bad for them, stuck with mobile suits eight years behind ours.

 As I got closer, I aimed a bit more. Junior wasn’t needed at this point; the enemy and I could both see each other. The first aimed beam struck a gelgoog on the shoulder, sending his beam rifle astray. Even if his shots went wild, most of the shots he deflected using his shield. But I was persistent, and it paid off when I finally got a shot in on the gelgoog’s head, severing it from the body. Now it was virtually blind. Before the pilot could switch to backup visuals, I moved even faster, charging him and swapping one pistol for a beam saber. Before he could aim his rifle I was on him, slashing down and cutting the rifle arm off from the body. He was disarmed now.

I pulled away to see another gelgoog disabled, immobilized by the adhesive shot from Oldman’s bazooka. A third gelgoog began to rise, only to have two massive beam shots rip an arm off, and then Storm’s clay bazooka round enveloped it in adhesive. The fourth and final gelgoog was in sight, so I rushed him with the saber, severing head and rifle arm in one diagonal blow. Oldman hit him with a clay bazooka round anyway. “For good measure,” he explained over radio.

Harpy brought up the rear with Storm. “You could have left one for me, you know.”

“Hey, you would have killed the poor bastards,” I retorted.

“Yeah well at least I remembered to grab my-” Harpy was cut off by a burst of machine gun fire. Evidently the transport still had its own turrets. Harpy’s armor let her shrug off the weak vulcan fire, and she clogged the gun with an adhesive shot. “There, that’ll count for something.” I rolled my eyes.

With the turrets disabled, I went over and parked myself in front of the transport’s bridge, raising a beam pistol to the plexiglass display. “Your guards have been disabled. Please surrender your cargo immediately.” Crisp, calm and professional. My voice had a nice ring to it when I wanted it to. With no alternative, the ship launched a white flare. I chuckled to myself. “Mission accomplished.” 


	3. Phase 03

The clean-up was simple. Cowboy and Grizzly flew in to inspect the wares then carried them back to the _Vulture_. The rest of us took turns helping move the trade goods and keeping our weapons ready to make sure nobody tried any funny business. It was pretty boring, but it was a good way to cool down after the fast-paced combat.

Cowboy was a former test pilot who quit his job at Anahiem Electronics to try his hand at ranching in space. But with Federation sanctions, his entrepreneurship failed. He had the look of a ranch hand, too- tall, rugged stubble, and the cowboy-style drawl that got him his name. He always had an easy-going and friendly look. He had to be the most laid-back of all the pilots. Then again, he almost never was in a combat situation. His suit was a custom GM II, with four arms instead of the usual two. After he quit, he took a copy of the schematics with him. Gearhead saw them and couldn’t resist building them.

The other non-combat pilot, Grizzly, was a bit different than Cowboy. He was a construction worker who had helped build and repair colonies. But when the Federation sold building jobs to more Earth-based firms, his went under. He had signed on expecting this to be the salvage ship we claimed to be. Needless to say, he wasn’t happy to learn that we were actually pirates. He never seemed to get over the shock of being lied to, and he still held it against us. I didn’t blame him. He griped and complained about the work being illegal, but I think we all knew that he supported our cause even if he was a total bitch about it. He was a bit on the short side, but his beard was the stuff of legends. It was a massive thing that took up everything beneath his nose. When we saw it, we refused to call him anything else. He flew a worker zaku, something he took with him from his previous job.

With the last of the storage crates on board the ship, the four of us combat pilots headed back to the _Vulture_. Harpy cut in front for docking. “If I’m last to head out, I’m heading in first.” Again, I rolled my eyes at her.

Harpy was a good girl at heart, honestly. But when she signed on, she said how she wanted to prove that just because she was a girl didn’t mean she wasn’t a good pilot. I think we got off on the wrong foot, honestly. Because while she was a good pilot and we respected her for that, the permanent chip on her shoulder from that desire to break through a non-existent glass ceiling earned her nickname. Ever since then that chip hadn’t gone away. It wasn’t even about gender anymore; it was more about her getting along with everyone. We liked to joke that she and Grizzly should get married and have babies with the worst attitude ever. Neither of them found it funny.

After Harpy landed in the rear docking bay, I set my own rick dias down. While I moved to my MS holding dock, I heard Oldman touch down behind me. As I climbed out of my suit, I could see Storm’s schuzrum dias set down. Storm was an ex-Rozzie who wanted to strike back at his homeland for not being enough of an advocate for spacenoids. He got the name for the way he looked: dark and stormy. He rarely smiled, and his blonde hair was flat like it had been rained on. He just always seemed depressed. Nobody held it against him though. After all, he had stolen his schuzrum dias and fled to join us. He was a wanted criminal back in the RoZ.We all kind of pitied him, but we never told it to his face.

Junior was already docked and waiting for us. After the doors closed and we were cleared to remove our helmets, I took mine off. It felt good to take my hair out of a ponytail and shake it around. Harpy always gave me a quizzical look, given how my hair was longer than hers. I didn’t care, I still liked it. I waited for everyone’s helmet to come off before I addressed everyone.

“Alright guys, that was a good job we pulled there. Only thing I’d like to say is that we need to take ship-mounted guns into account. We got lucky today, but there’s always a chance that they could be more lethal. Now let’s break and wait to hear from the Captain.” Harpy grumbled, but all in all everyone seemed to be in decent spirits.

 I personally began to work my way to the bridge. As the de-facto field commander, I had the responsibility for giving Captain Hass the post-action report. I found the bridge to be in even better spirits, with our victory well-appreciated. The Captain was sitting pleasantly in his central command chair. “Ah, Angel. Anything to report?”

“Same as usual, sir. No casualties on either side. The whole thing went off without a hitch.”

His face lit up, and it sort of warmed my heart. “Excellent! An outstanding job as usual.” I practically blushed at the compliment. I had always braced myself for criticism rather than praise, even when I knew Hass would never say a harsh word. Captain Hass continued. “With this, er, acquisition, we’ve practically filled our holding area. The ship’ll be headed back to Grenada to hand the goods off.”

I beamed. Going to drop off goods was a high point of the job. Everyone got some R&R, and we got to interact with people other than our crewmates. It was a nice break from the routine of scavenging and raiding. The captain formally made the announcement over the PA system a few minutes after I left.

Things felt good at the time. I was going back home for a few days, where I could find some peace. Local food, local drinks, local everything. I could decompress and relax. Little did I know crazy things would be getting over those few days.


	4. Phase 04

            My rick dias pushed ahead. “Just a mop-up, right Angel?” Redface’s brash and boisterous voice was good to hear. It sounded so confident and sure. He was a motivation to keep going, either to press onward or hold the line. And now it felt like all our holding had paid off. We were all a bit relaxed with the cannon firing.

“Yeah, the good Captain Bright seems to have done the hard part for us. We just need to check the ruins and deal with any survivors.” I smirked triumphantly. Gryps II had been fired and the Titans were formally no more. Haman Karn and Axis were pulling back, and supposedly the Zeta Gundam was spearheading an assault on the _Jupitiris_. The battle was ours now, it was just a matter of picking off survivors. And that was no problem for me.

Redface was on my right and Striker was on my left. Striker was oddly silent, and it unnerved me. We were all jubilant, and here he was, silent like the grave. I didn’t bother addressing him, I just moved onward.

We reached the wrecked Titans fleet. Debris from all sorts of ships was scattered around, along with a few dead mobile suits. I was glad that scent couldn’t travel through space, otherwise the smell of charred flesh would be everywhere. “Man, the colony laser really worked,” I noted.

“Hell yeah it did! No more Titans, and Axis running for their mommies! Man, I am gonna get so drunk tonight. And I mean more drunk then the celebrations after Maelstrom.”

“Careful, I don’t want you to drink yourself to death the day after the bloodiest battle of the war.” Redface laughed. Being the drunk was his reputation on the _Hawk_. Sure, it was frowned upon, but after the big victories, the captain looked the other way and we all snuck a few drinks in, even if Striker and I were underage. Redface got his name for how much liquor he could hold. Striker got his for how fast he moved to attack.

            In retrospect, I should have known something was wrong when Striker didn’t laugh with me and Redface. We began shifting through the dead ruins, keeping our sensors alert. Then, all of a sudden, one scream from Striker broke the silence.

“INCOMING!”

I turned all too late, just in time to see Redface get impaled by a barzam, the mobile suit’s saber piercing the chest of his suit, then jerking up through the head in a harsh and painful motion. I gasped in horror at the atrocity before turning around to see a marasai right on top of me, beam saber ready to strike. It brought the saber down in one fell swoop…

…and my eyes opened to the blackness of my room. It was a dream. A dream I always thought was gone for good, and then reappeared to prove me wrong. I always wished it would go away. But it never did. It was like the graveyard of Gryps II never wanted me to leave.

I got up and out of bed, floating idly in my room. The lights were out, so technically it was night. My room was plain, with a cot attached to the wall to sleep in. There was a dresser for holding my clothes, and a desk for my belongings.

Lazily, I opened the door and drifted out into the hall. I had developed a fool-proof cure for these kinds of nightmares, and it was in the rec room. When I made it into the rec room I floated over to the refrigerator. Unlike the liquor cabinet, it was kept unlocked. I reached in and pulled out a milk bottle.* If I couldn’t use alcohol, I could still use milk to drink the nightmares away.

I’ve had the nightmare ever since the battle of Gryps II. Well, I guess I should be honest and call it what it was: A flashback. It was the end of the war, with Bright and Quattro or Char or Casval or Who-Gives-a-Shit firing the colony laser and putting an end to the Titans. We were part of the clean-up crew, going out and checking the ruins while the Zeta Gundam led the final assault on the _Jupiteris_. Everything was going smoothly, with no signs of life. It was too quiet. We were ambushed by two stragglers, a barzam and a marasai. Redface was killed when the barzam sliced up into his cockpit in the head. The marasai would have killed me too if Striker hadn’t snapped out of whatever daze he was in to come and help. He had pushed me out of the way, so my suit would only be slightly damaged. Striker and I then fought off the two suits, but I wound up taking too much damage. I left my rick dias in the Gryps II graveyard. The one I flew now was Striker’s.

It was both funny and tragic, how the Gryps War wouldn’t let me escape. I was trapped, reliving the same battles and imagining the ghosts of the same person. Sometimes when I drank something non-alcoholic I could picture Redface right next to me, asking me why I was such a wimp. He had always given me crap about my low tolerance. Of course, I took it as a challenge to build a resistance, and wound up making an ass out of myself quite a few times.

We didn’t always drink in celebration. Sometimes it was in mourning. Our squad had been lucky to avoid any losses up until Redface. But other squads weren’t as lucky. We had done “shots of honor” to remember the fallen heroes. But the funny thing about that is that we never really thought that some day it could be one of us dying next. I was only 18 then. I still thought I was invincible. I don’t know how I made it out, given how I was so young and reckless. And now that I’m 20, I feel a lot older and wiser. That just wasn’t right. There were still kids my age getting plastered and loving their youth, while I drank bottled milk and regretted throwing my youth away on the battlefield. It was pitiful.

So pitiful, in fact, that I stopped guzzling the milk out of disgust with myself. I had also been idly chomping on some of the snacks, so I put them down too. I decided that this self-pity was worthless. I left the room and went back to bed. Better to just sleep a bad mood off. Sometimes the most productive solution is to do nothing at all.

I awoke next morning with revelry. It was the same stumbling as usual as I struggled to get my bearings. Waking up was always hard for me. But it got harder when I realized that I had left everything out from the night before.

I scrambled frantically through the halls, sloppily dressed and hoping to clean up my mess before I could get reprimanded for refrigerator raiding again. I may or may not have even pushed a tech into the wall on my way there. But regardless, when I reached the rec room, I experienced a massive shock.

Everything had been put back in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Author’s note: Drinking milk is harder in zero gravity, and it takes a bit more effort. But anyone who would monologue on and on about how to drink milk in zero-g is an asshole who clearly has nothing interesting to talk about. So before you wonder how it is possible for me to drink bottled milk without gravity***, stop for a minute and ask yourself, “Why do I need to know this and what bearing does it have on the story?”**
> 
> **Author’s note: Author’s notes are actually kinda dumb and I really hope I won’t make them a habit. Sorry about that.
> 
> ***Author’s hint: it involves straws.


	5. Phase 05

            The rest of our trip to the moon was uneventful. Everyone on the ship was anticipating touchdown. Once the doors opened to the city, anyone not involved in unloading and gear handling was officially on shore leave. This was our vacation, and you could tell. The halls had a last-day-of-school kind of feel to it, with plenty of side conversations going on. You could hear guys talking about where they were going to go to eat, which hotel they would stay in, who was staying with friends and family. As a native, I had a few guys come up to me and ask about good bars, some more about quality restaurants, and even one sheepish looking kid ask me where to find the best whorehouse. He was probably asking on a dare by his friends, but I played along with the joke and gave him the address of a crazy ex-girlfriend.

            When we got out, it was like the proverbial school bell rang. The crew bounded out onto the solid ground with a youthful exuberance that I envied. I myself had to check with Captain Hass first to see that I wasn’t needed to help unload first. Much to my relief, he told me that he wanted to go see the smugglers who would be moving all our plunder. So I had some time to myself.

            Before long, I began to wonder away from the spaceport. I wasn’t lost, since I knew this city like the back of my hand. I still just kind of walked the streets aimlessly, breathing in the artificial air and soaking in the genuine (if not filtered) sunlight. It felt kind of good to be home again, just walking around. I felt like I was somewhere I belonged.

            I loved Granada. To me, it represented the boundless idealism of the AEUG and what we fought for. There was bright sunlight, clean streets, minimal traffic, and low crime. It was sort of a utopia, pure and unspoiled. There were towering, glimmering skyscrapers that filled me with awe as a boy. There was also the beautiful Pax Park, dedicated to all who fought and died in the One Year War and celebrating the peace treaty. Everything was just so amazing, like a heaven to walk in.

            Then I remembered something: apparently the city had also commissioned a Gryps war memorial! I was actually kind of excited, hoping that I could see a testament made to my efforts. The federation was reluctant to recognize the AEUG, but surely we would get some acknowledgement from one of our most loyal supporters? In a rush, I hustled over to Pax Park, where I heard it was built. My heart rose, hoping that it would be a glorious monument to the struggle for freedom and peace.

            What I found was disappointment. The monument was small, literally in the shadow of the massive OYW memorial. Still, with my hopes high, I read the engraving:

“ _Here we honor all who gave their lives in the civil federal conflict of 0087. May this structure serve to represent the perfect eternal union of Earth and her colonies. Let those who fought for unity not have died in vain. The heroes of this conflict are forever in our hearts. May they not be forgotten.”_

My heart sank.

“Eternal union”?

“Her colonies”?

“Civil federal conflict”?

It was bullshit! Pure, unmitigated bullshit! I didn’t lose a friend to some fucking “civil conflict,” I lost him to a fucking rebellion against earth’s tyranny and oppression! And that monument had the balls to say he died in a fight for unity? The Gryps War was never about unity, it was about calling out the Federation for treating spacenoids like shit!

I looked up in anger at the massive OYW monument. I knew why the Federation had that obelisk so high. Because in that war they could easily claim to be the good guys. Sure they had blood on their hands, but when compared to the crimes of the Zabis, they were blameless in the public eye. And the position of the memorial represented everything I fought against. The Federation was using their victory over Zeon to claim the moral high ground, even when they kept the spacenoids under their heel. And even after we fought back and got rid of the Titans, the Federation kept us down. Not even in my home city, a loyal supporter of the AEUG, was free from the Federation’s lies. They just didn’t care about us after all.

I left in disgust to wonder aimlessly again. This time it was much more depressed. Everything around me felt like a lie, some sort of fake utopia to placate us. We were still second-class citizens, even in this fake land. The air in the city was fake and unnatural. The sunlight was filtered and controlled. And even worse were the people. They never fought, so they could never understand my indignation if I voiced it. Suddenly the support of Granada felt all like a bunch of talk. The people were unable to comprehend the sacrifices the AEUG made for them, their minds softened by Federation propaganda. It was all a lie, the entire damn city.

As I walked, I noticed a dirty man in rags. He was sitting on the sidewalk, with a sign saying that he was a homeless veteran. Nobody was stopping for him. I walked over and gave him almost half the contents of my wallet. His face lit up and his eyes grew wide. I kept on walking.

It wasn’t until I was several blocks away that I realized that I had no idea what kind of veteran the bum was. I didn’t know who he fought for. He could have been AEUG, Federation, Zeon, or even a goddamn Titan. But honestly, at that moment, I didn’t care. We were both the same. Totally homeless. This city wasn’t my home. I tore out my roots and re-planted them in the war. The battlefield was my home, and now even that was gone. I was a permanent wanderer. A vagrant without any real shelter.

And I thought about other things too. I spent most of the Neo-Zeon War doing odd jobs around Granada and sleeping. I essentially slept through an entire colony drop. Hell, I pretty much slept through an entire goddamn war. I had retired from the fighting and left to hide under the sheets and pretend that everything was fine and that one of my friends didn’t just die in front of my eyes. Everything I did was hiding from the horrors of the battlefield. Meanwhile Captain Bright went out and took the fight to Karn when no one else wanted to. How the hell could I call myself ex-AEUG when I abandoned it to cower in bed halfway through the struggle?

            All the self-righteousness and self-loathing was wearing on me. My head was starting to hurt. I needed a real drink for once. And fortunately, I knew where to find one.


	6. Phase 06

            The Rusty Nail was a favorite spot of mine. It was a small, dingy dive bar where old traders hung out in between runs. Everyone had their own struggle, and there was an unspoken understanding among the patrons. I spent a lot of time there after the war. It was where I felt the closest to being somewhere I belonged. The bartender never bothering to card me also helped.

            As I stepped in, I was almost happy to see that the place hadn’t changed. Sure it was just as dark and dirty as ever, but it still had that character to it. I felt like I had entered a whole other world, all away from the artificial air and filtered sunlight. I didn’t know a single face in the bar, but I wasn’t here to make friends. I was here to escape some demons.

            I sat down at the bar and ordered myself a strong beer. It came quickly, another good thing about this bar. I drank it all up like I had come in from a desert. Already I could feel the eyes upon me, judging me. I was drinking hard and alone. Just another depressed guy. What did I have that made me different?

            I started to think about giving it all up. Just go back to my normal life, my life before the piracy. Sleeping and odd jobs, that was all I was good for. Why just keep this crime and larceny up? What was I accomplishing? We would never get the respect we deserve. Right then and there I was ready to begin mentally composing a letter of resignation.

            Suddenly I saw an older man, far more drunk than me, explode in anger. “It ain’t bloody fair!” he shouted as he burst up. Instantly, everyone’s eyes turned to him. Whoever he was talking to tried to hush him, but he ignored it. “Those CMS bastards think that they run the colonies now? That they can just get every shipping contract under the sun? I’ve run my ferry for over 50 years and the Federation just says, ‘we’re sorry, loyalty means nothing, we’ve found someone cheaper’. Well! They and their grubby little CMS friends can go straight to hell! The lot of ‘em!”

I looked on in pity. CMS, or Colony Management Systems, was a new megacorporation founded a few weeks after the Gryps War. Reconstruction was a major goal of theirs, and the Federation gave them plenty of contracts to repair the damage done to the colonies. They grew rapidly, soon controlling almost all private shipping. And of course, they were totally pro-earth. Any spacenoid lucky enough to be hired could be expected to be paid less and work more. CMS was an open target for us because of this. In fact, the _Vulture_ was part of the raids that led to the Federation granting them permission to maintain an anti-piracy fleet.

The drunk had to have been one of the countless Spacenoids put out of business by CMS’s practices, with their monopoly nearly secure. It was disgusting. But they had the law on their side, and technically they weren’t committing the kind of atrocities that would warrant a rebellion. They would soon have the colonies in an economic chokehold. It was pathetic, how after two years of fighting we were barely better off than before.

I ordered another beer. Yeah, I was gonna get drunk on my own, because honestly I couldn’t think of anything better to do.

“I like the idea. I’ll have what he’s having.” Just then I turned around to see Captain Hass taking the seat next to me. He shot me a pleasant smile. I still had a scowl on my face. “Figured I’d find you here, Angel.” I scoffed. I just wanted to be in a bad mood all on my own. “Something wrong?”

“The Gryps Memorial,” I snapped back. I figured he would just get the picture and leave me to sulk. His smile faded into a frown of his own. But while my face contorted out of anger, his did out of sorrow. Our beers came over and we took a sip.

He sighed. “Damn shame, isn’t it?”

“Shame? It’s an outrage.”

“Yeah. I went to go see it while Oldman visited the OYW memorial. When he couldn’t even find me to meet up after we paid our respects, we both knew something was wrong.”

“Even in defeat, the Federation fucked us.” I let that obscenity sink in for emphasis. Captain Hass didn’t seem that phased by my foul mouth.

“I doubt it. Granada is independent, remember? Unlike the totality of the OYW, the Gryps War was really politically divisive. The monument probably just had to not offend anyone.”

“But the Titans were pure evil! The most evil thing I’ve ever seen! Why should we try to please them?”

“Because they had a lot of political support. That’s how the moon works: you please both sides.”

“Yeah, I know…” I still grumbled. There was a pause for what felt like forever. I finally broke the silence when the beer came. “Wanna have toast to Redface?”

“Sure. He’d be here with us if he could.”

 I chuckled darkly and raised my glass. “To Redface, then. We’ve got your little brother in good hands, bro.”

“To Redface.” Hass and I clinked glasses and began to take a sip. It had a nice taste to it, something I felt more beers needed.

Captain Hass raised an eyebrow. “So why make the toast to Redface?”

“Because we’re drinking, and that was kind of his thing, and…”

“You had another flashback, didn’t you?” He looked at me like he was a parent. I scowled and looked away to continue my drinking. “Look, if it ever becomes too much for you, it’s perfectly ok for you to say so, I can keep you on the ship without you having to get in a suit.”

“I can pilot just fine, alright?” I was honest there. The nightmares never affected my combat ability.

“Well I’m worried about what this is doing to you!”

“Well where else am I going to be? Back doing shit jobs for minimum wage? Sitting around in bed or on a couch or even on a park bench if I don’t feel like walking home?”

“I said you could still be on the ship…”

“You mean like you? Too scared to get back in a cockpit because of one ambush? Yeah, stay on the goddamn ship and watch everyone else fly while your dias sits in the MS bay collecting dust. It’ll just be sitting there as a giant fucking monument to how I backed down because of a few bad dreams! How I was willing to give up on the plight of Spacenoids just because I didn’t want to remember seeing one person die. Yeah, like I want to see that.” I took a deep breath, my angry rant done. My voice might have raised. A few people were staring awkwardly at us.

It felt like forever until the Captain spoke. “You know, I was worried that seeing the monument would drive you to giving up.” He chuckled. In retrospect, I’m glad that he overlooked my shot at his trauma-induced fear of piloting. “Guess I can depend on you to stick with us for a bit longer?”

I thought about it for a bit. Suddenly, that outburst reminded me that I still had hope. That I could still fight for the people of space. That all of this wasn’t futile. That even when everyone else gave up, I didn’t. My scowl turned to a grin. The grin broke into a laugh. Captain Hass laughed with me. “I guess you can,” I replied.

We spent the rest of the hour laughing and joking, drinking and remembering times of old. It was funny how quickly I had turned around. In retrospect, maybe I had been hoping he would come and help me remember why I cared. If that was the case, then I guess I owed him one again.

After a while, he got serious. “The pick-up tomorrow. You’re meeting me and our man at sunset over at my hotel room.” I instantly knew he was referring to the regular Anaheim Electronics break-in. We busted into Anaheim’s Von Braun facility routinely in order to pick up the flight paths of any ship that docked there. It gave us a good heads-up about who was moving where.

“Yeah, I can manage that,” I replied, “but right now let’s have a good time.” So with business on the backburner, we partied into the night.


	7. Phase 07

I spent much of the next morning nursing my hangover. Redface had given me and Hass advice on how to handle them back after our first time out drinking. I’m not sure how much water I drank, but I’m sure I left the hotel with quite the bill. After I thought I was good enough to move, I helped the other pilots out with unloading goods. Our fence provided us with some mobile workers, and the combat pilots used them to help Grizzly and Cowboy take the plunder from the ship to the waiting trucks, who then took them to the smugglers who would move them to the colonies in need. It was actually fairly heartwarming, seeing all the goods moving to the economically suffering. It was just as good as drinking and chumming it up with Captain Hass.

Around sunset, I headed back to the hotel. I knocked first, then waited for Hass to open the door. I slid in to see a table all set up in the room. Sitting there was a thin, wiry man with a conservative auburn haircut and spectacles, a no-nonsense look on his face. “Angel. A pleasure to see you again,” he said emotionlessly.

“Mr. Alfreson. A pleasure to see you again,” I said, parodying his monotone drawl as I took a seat at the table. I could hear Captain Hass laugh behind my back, but the thin figure in front of me didn’t change his facial expression. I don’t think I ever saw Daniel Alfreson laugh or smile in my entire life. He was our inside man at Anaheim in Von Braun, helping us with our break-ins from his position as security dispatch. He could open the doors and keep cameras looking the other way while we ran amok.

He was essential to our operation. Going back to the moon wasn’t just for selling off our “harvest”. We also needed to pick up the master registry from the Von Braun space dock. It told us where every ship in the past month came from, where it was going, who was escorting it, and what its cargo was. It was the key to planning our raids and picking our targets. We could track certain merchant ships we deemed suitable targets, marking their trade routes and planning an ambush at the appropriate location.

I heard Captain Hass lock the door behind me, and he came around to take a seat at the table. “So Dan, what do you have for us?”

Alfreson carefully laid a file out on the table and opened it. He took great care to move though the documents until he finally reached what he was looking for. “Gentlemen, the floor plan of the Von Braun docks.”

“Same from the last time, right?” I asked.

“Not quite. We’ve stepped up security around dock eighteen here,” he responded, pointing a single bony finger at the dock in question. “I assume it’s been requisitioned for work on Project EX.”

“Project what?”

“Trade secret for now. Even I don’t know what it is, just that it involves deep space exploration. They’ve been doing the tests for that along with that Hizack upgrade test for CMS from that dock last time real late. It’s all hush-hush, with minimal personnel.

“Perfect place to sneak in,” I noted. The two men looked at me confused. I looked back at them smiling. It warmed my heart to have noticed something they didn’t. I elaborated. “Well, with minimal personel, that means minimal guards. And _that_ we should have no problem sneaking in whenever the doors open. Alfreson here seems to be good with keeping the electronic eyes off of us and the locks out of our way. The Captain and I can sneak in, grab the master registry, and get out the same way without even taking our flight suits off. We get out into space and then it’s half an hour’s jetting away until retrieval.” Captain Hass seemed impressed. “Hey, you made me leader of the MS squad for a reason.”

“True, true,” Hass confessed while laughing. But after he laughed, he turned back to Alfreson. “What about the Hizack testing you said was going on?”

“It’s an attempt to make a new command suit for the Hizack’s of CMS’s anti-piracy force. They’ve got at least one prototype, but I’m 98% confident that it’s unarmed. That’s been going on in dock nineteen, where their new flagship is docked. _Alexandria_ -class, purchased from the EFSF, heavily modified.”

Captain Hass looked at me in anticipation, and I tried to preserve my good mood and prevent the automatic scowl. It was no secret that the Federation was washing its hands clean of the Titans by selling off most of their old gear, especially the _Alexandria_ -class heavy cruiser that became a symbol of the Titans’ power. I tried not to think how many heroes died at the hands of that equipment the Federation was making a profit off of.

I turned my attention back to the topic at hand and looked at Alfreson. “So we’ll still have retrieval?”

“Yes. One shuttle as usual.”

“Alright, so we’ll enter through an airlock at dock eighteen, sneak our way to the spaceport head office, grab the master registry, and get the hell out of there through the same airlock, and then leap across the moon until your shuttle gets us?”

“Sounds good to me,” Captain Hass said. “I’ll have the _Vulture_ leave Grenada simultaneously, so the shuttle can meet it in lunar orbit to drop us off.”

“This plan works for me. I can remotely have an airlock open in dock eighteen for you. Can you ensure you’ll be in and out?”

“Grab-and-go has always been our policy,” Hass assured him. I nodded in agreement. He went on. “We won’t bring any weapons, just the typical vacuum-proofed briefcase.”

Alfreson nodded. “Well then, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure meeting up with you again.” His face sure didn’t show it. “I’ll be hopefully not be seeing you at all tomorrow.” He didn’t even laugh at his own joke. What a strange man. 


	8. Phase 08

The trip to Von Braun was as painful as I expected it to be. The only non-space transit between the cities was a massive monorail system in dire need of expansion. There were only a few trains going back and forth at any given time, despite having what felt like an entire colony’s worth of people needing to move. We were stuck inside a mass of people, packed wall-to-wall in the station. There was a pervading stench of sweat, and I was positive that any jury would acquit me of killing the jackass that didn’t wear deodorant. To make matters worse, the train was late, keeping me trapped in the purgatory of the station. The train to Von Braun was no better: We were all packed into the car like cattle. I was lucky enough to be standing throughout the hellish transport, but Captain Hass was trapped in a seat, on eye level with an obese man’s beer gut. I felt so sorry for the Captain. I decided that I would pay for lunch out of pure sympathy for him.

Von Braun itself was a lot different than Granada. It was the biggest city on the moon, and it showed. Not only was it large enough to see from Earth, but it had expanded vertically, digging down into the moon and building up into the stars. Even then, the city was still a crowded megalopolis. It was a struggle to get out of the station, and we elected to walk rather than grow old waiting in traffic.

Lunch, still being my treat, was actually not bad. Von Braun might be a giant urban cesspool, but the diners served good food. The restaurant we agreed on was a bit of a dive, but it had that character to it, not unlike the Rusty Nail back in Granada. I had no idea why it was in such poor condition given how great the food was, but I certainly didn’t mind. A good burger is still a good burger.

 Dinner was far more formal, where we and a wealthy shipping magnate negotiated a price for the goods he would smuggle to the colonies. We wanted to make sure he would sell them to the people at an affordable price, but would still make enough of a profit to make up for the illegal nature of the sale. Then there was our cut, large enough to maintain our operation but not too large to make us too expensive to acquire goods from. We weren’t the only pirates out there, after all. This was the sort of thing I hated: I was dressed in a suit and tie, and I had to put my hair back in the ponytail. Hass said I looked sharp, but I kept insisting I didn’t feel natural. It didn’t help that his tie was too tacky for a mere mortal to try to describe. We ate some fancy meat and drank some fancy champagne whose names I couldn’t pronounce if I was held at gunpoint.

After that silent torture, we moved to an abandoned dockside warehouse to get changed into space suits. Moving through space was a key element to the plan: The entrance to the docks in the city was heavily guarded, but the docks themselves out on the moon’s surface were literally unguarded. It was perfect for our exit and our entrance.

The warehouse itself was empty, but for whatever reason it had an abandoned airlock. We suspected that it had been put in for illegal lunar immigrants back in the early UC, who were probably dropped off away from the city, then made the moonwalk over to a clandestine airlock to enter the city. That made it perfect for what we had to do. Captain Hass and I changed into pilot suits, which we had hidden in our luggage. They had enough oxygen for our moonwalk. Hass took one of the emptied cases with him, for us to store our loot in.

Using the concealed airlock, we stepped out into space. We both had done this before, so we made our first giant bound without a word. When moonwalking, we couldn’t get too far away from each other, lest one of us fall over and be unable to get up. We leaped and bounced over the beautiful lunar landscape. The silence was deafening. Hass and I had long since agreed to let the stillness speak for itself.

It took about five minutes to get to dock eighteen. When we got there, I could hear a small blip over radio. That was Hass’s way of announcing our presence to Alfreson. In an instant, the dock’s maintenance airlock door slid open, letting the two of us squeeze in. After it filled with oxygen, Hass and I stepped out, then removed our oxygen tanks and set them by the airlock to refill.

Entering dock eighteen, we saw a whole lot of nothing. It was a dock big enough for ships, but all I could see was one mobile suit trailer. There was some kind of suit on it, covered in a massive canvas. I figured that was the Project EX, or at least a dummy suit designed to work with it. I pointed it out to Hass, but he silently gestured that we needed to keep moving.

It wasn’t a long walk to the dockmaster’s office, and we weren’t expecting any trouble. We ascended the staircase up to the top floor of the offices without any incident. We both stopped when we reached to top, knowing that there were security guards. Hass looked out first; after he saw that the guards weren’t looking he gave the signal. We dashed past them and kept moving. It was the tensest part of the operation, and the fear of being caught with no easy way to fight your way out. I was on edge- every noise had to be registered, even if it was the hum of a monitor. The footsteps we heard could either be a guard or a janitor. Even our own footsteps made us uneasy. We were aware to the point of paranoia. When we finally did reach the dockmaster’s office, I relaxed a bit. This part was easier.

Inside, we were quick. With flashlights out, we opened the desk and began searching. Mercifully, the dockmaster never thought to lock any of his possessions. While rummaging through his outbox, a paper caught my eye. I picked it up and began reading it.

It was a memo to the dockmaster. Overall, it was nothing too flashy, but there were some interesting parts. The most glaring one was a simple command. “If the CMS Anti-pirate _Alexandria-Kai_ class ship _Severddans_ docks in Von Braun, under no circumstances are you to permit the ship to be inspected. When the ship receives its mobile suit contingent, you are not to note it, instead marking it down as having received recruits for their private marine force.”

“Hey Captain, get a load of this.” I waved Hass over.

“Make it good, we’re leaving.” I recognized the disk in his hand as the master registry He quickly stowed in the briefcase. I showed him the letter. I tracked his eyes as he read it.

“Why the hell would CMS need a secret MS force?” I asked. Before I could get an answer, I heard the familiar sound of a mobile suit’s launch.

“Shit, that must be their test unit launching,” He whispered. “Take that order with us, I’ll try to track it with the registry. We don’t have any more time to poke around. Let’s move!” He stuffed the memo in the briefcase and we snuck back out. But only a few steps away, we heard the worst possible word.

“FREEZE!” Shit, we had been spotted. I could feel the flashlight on us. Thinking quickly, the Captain and I bolted. We knew they were onto us now.

“Split up!” Hass ordered, and I made sure to obey. Out of the corner of my eye I could make out the captain running into a different hallway. I kept moving, following the same path to dock eighteen. Halls that seemed so long when we were sneaking suddenly became far shorter. Keeping my head down in case any shots were fired, I bolted down the stairs and opened the door to the dock. Still empty, but I could hear people after me, just starting the long trip down the stairs.

I knew that with that CMS Hizack out there, I couldn’t escape in my space suit. Captain Hass had likely gone to a different dock to get a smaller ship. And all dock eighteen had was this one mystery mobile suit. It was at that point I made the decision that would change my life. Hoping that lady luck smiled upon me, I lifted the canvas up off the mobile suit.

It seemed lady luck was smiling as wide as I was. Lying underneath the canvas, there on the trailer, was a gundam.

 


	9. Phase 09

                The gundam wasn’t like any I’d seen before. It seemed to have the same color palette as the original RX-78-2. But everything about its design was more boxy and angular. It seemed to also adhere to the “movable frame” school of thought, with the armor appearing light and the joints unencumbered. It had plenty of thrusters for full, all-directional mobility. The head was interesting, with the traditional gundam V-crest being both made with a white wide crest and a narrow golden one, creating a four-point image of authority. The backpack was smaller, but it held both beam sabers and additional thrusters. I counted vulcan guns on both the head and the wrists. It was the most majestic mobile suit I had ever seen.

            Overall, it reminded me a lot of the Zeta. I never had the privileges of serving alongside such a legendary suit, but I felt like as a gundam it was part of the same revered dynasty. In the past decade, gundams were a symbol of technological progress. Almost all of them were the most advanced machines of whatever conflict they were in, and most of them were a terror for the enemy to behold. It was as if I was looking at royalty.

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE!” The guards shouting as they reached the bottom of the stairs broke my fond admiration of the gundam. I suddenly snapped back to the very real threat of being arrested, and my mind raced for possible solutions. Fortunately, it didn’t take too long. The answer was right in front of me. I’m a pirate after all, so why not just take the gundam? If Alfreson was correct, it was designed for deep space mobility. That probably meant that it would be far more than enough for me to rescue the captain and get back to the ship in orbit.

I scrambled up onto the trailer as I heard the first shot ring out. It struck the trailer itself. The second harmlessly hit the gundam, nowhere near strong enough to even dent the armor. I climbed up onto the gundam’s chest and quickly began looking for a cockpit hatch. I scrambled wildly, ducking down as the third shot went high above me and hit the wall behind me. I could hear more guards coming. I had to hurry.

Finally, just when I was getting close to thinking my luck had run out, I spotted an opening in a chest indentation. I ducked down and looked for a button to open it. I ducked again, dodging a fourth bullet. And with my lucky streak continuing, I spotted a red button by the door itself. Slamming down on it with my fist, the hatch opened. Without any hesitation, I scrambled inside. I knew I wasn’t going to die here, not with this gundam, not with _my_ gundam.

The cockpit was a linear one, with the massive chair in the center of a 360-degree panoramic display. It was obviously of Anaheim Electronics make, since I recognized all the controls. I took the seat and instantly hit the close hatch button. Within a few button presses, the display lit up in bright blue. “WELCOME TO THE GUNDAM EX” in big white letters scrolled across it. After one spin the display showed the settings around me. I could hear the security guards scream and run. I chuckled.

The first thing I did was to get up. The controls were familiar enough, and I forced the gundam to sit up, then to finally stand. It balanced itself fairly well. Next step was to get out on the moon. I changed the radio to our private frequency. “This is Angel, checking in.”

I heard Hass’s voice first. “Thank god, I heard gunshots from one of the docks. Are you ok?”

“I feel fucking awesome. Alfreson, open the dock eighteen door.”

“What?” Hass was thrown off by my gundam-enduced euphoria. I can’t blame him for not getting why I loved that machine so much. It’s just that everything about it felt so powerful, like I had acquired a tool of the gods. I felt like a god in this thing.

Alfreson, however, had the security cameras aware of what I was doing. “I can do it, just give me time.” Almost instantly, the alert to secure all space suits flashed, and the door began to open.

“Right then. Captain, I’ll need you to pick up a ride for us. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, I think Alfreson can get me a way out of here. Just, whatever you’re doing, be safe, okay?”

“Roger that.” I could see the doors open. I turned to face my new gundam to the expanse of space. “This is Angel, Gundam EX, launching now!” I slammed every forward booster and rocketed out ahead into space.

 


	10. Phase 10

The initial power was exhilarating! I had never piloted a suit built on the “movable frame” idea, so it felt like I was flying over the moon in something far faster than a mobile suit. The crater-filled moonscape seemed to be a blur on my display. Quickly, I stopped to get my bearings. The linear seat absorbed the impact of the sudden halt.

My new heads-up display was far less encumbering than that of my rick dias. I quickly identified the fuel gauge, status readout, and the targeting reticule. In the cockpit I briefly made sure where all the controls were. For the most part they were Anaheim standard, with a few modifications to suit the unit.

It was at that point I realized that if this gundam, the “Gundam EX” was part of Project EX, it most likely had Anaheim security on the radio. With a brief switch of frequencies, I picked up on the chaos I caused.

“Dispatch, can you see the stolen suit?” Most likely that was some security officer.

Alfreson replied. “Negative, all cameras and systems are not responding. Probably an outside source.” I resisted the urge to laugh or make any noise. I knew Alfreson was lying through his teeth. Of course, he was so monotone that no one could know the difference.

“OK then dispatch, work on getting control. Jones, you said there were two intruders?”

“Sir, we’re trying to find the other one, but he’s not in any of the MS or capital ship docks.” I stifled a laugh again. The captain wouldn’t be hiding there.

Then a darker, deeper voice came. “This is Blue Devil from the CMS hizack command test. I have a visual on the gundam in question. Requesting permission to aid in retrieval?” The voice just naturally filled me with dread, even if he wasn’t talking about attacking me. Something about how smooth, deep and rich it was set me on edge.

“Dispatch to Morosus, that’s…” The radio cut out for a bit and I panicked.

When dispatch came back online a second later, it wasn’t Alfreson’s voice. “Blue Devil? That your callsign?”

“Yes it is sir.”

“I don’t care how many pieces it’s in, get me that damn gundam!” I turned off the radio and let out a groan. Hitting the thrusters, I tried to fly over toward Granada. A beam shot struck the lunar suface behind me, and I knew that this Devil guy had other plans. I turned to the source.

Coming at me was the “hizack command”. It was essentially identical to the original, barring a bright blue color scheme. In its hands was a standard-issue hizack beam rifle. It charged me, faster than a usual hizack. Devil fired again, and I leaped back to dodge the shot. But he didn’t relent, and I dodged beam after beam. The gundam was fast, fast enough to outrun that fancy new hizack. In fact, I was saving propellant and using minimal thruster power, instead using the moon’s low gravity to make large leaps and the thrusters to dodge shots in mid-air.

Even though it couldn’t compete with the gundam, the hizack command and its pilot made a frighteningly good team. It was a fast machine, and he was both relentless and accurate pilot. In a lesser suit, I would have been hit by now. I decided to have a little fun and switched back on the radio. “You’re not bad for a bunch of private goons, but I’d give up if I were you all,” I taunted. “I’ve got the gundam, and little blue boy blue out here isn’t going to be getting me any time soon.”

I got a call on a private frequency and accepted it while boosting back and letting one of Devils’s shots fall short. When I heard the same rich voice, I recognized it as Corpus. “Little boy blue? Really?”

I leapt to the side, dodging another shot. “Hey, I’m used to fighting, not talking at the same time.”

The next one hit the ground right by my ankle. If I hadn’t jumped, my new gundam would have needed new feet. Devil chuckled. “Quite the hotshot rookie, aren’t we? Getting by with your pretty new toy.”

“Oh look who’s talking, bluebird.” I ducked down and dodged one of his beam shots.

“Alright, you little brat,” he retorted angrily. I smirked as I realized he had likely run out of ammo. “you can call me Devil. Remember the name, it’ll be the last name you ever hear!”

I smirked and boosted directly up at him. “Funny story, there, Devil. My name’s Angel. Nice to meet you!” I opened fire on him with all four vulcan guns, in both the head and the wrists. The effect was nice, both shutting Devil up and forcing him back. I noted the speed of the blue hizack, and how it managed to get out of the way of my vulcans.

I turned my four-gun fire to lead him, but he stopped short and burst under me. He had discarded the beam rifle and produced a saber. Evidently the hizack command wasn’t just faster, but also had a powerful enough generator to handle two beam weapons. Devil charged, and I blasted forward so he went above me. I brought the vulcans up and kept the fire going. Again, he dodged around them, showing his maneuverability off.

It was at that point I realized that that all Devil had was his beam saber. He’d have to charge me head-on to hit me. So I moved into his vision, inaudibly goading him to charge me. To my luck, he fell for the trap and rushed right at me. Celebrating victory, I raised the vulcans to face him and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

I barely had enough time to realize that I was out of vulcan ammo, and drew a beam saber to catch his oncoming blade. I started boosting backwards away from the moon, trying to break the weak gravity in hopes that the gundam could go where Devil couldn’t follow. I parried blow after blow, Devil’s constant flurry leaving me no time to counterattack. His form was excellent, and any hit could have been lethal. He didn’t waste time with the head, and instead focused on the chest, with the cockpit and the power generator. This guy was no rookie, he had to be some kind of ace.

“Angel!” Captain Hass’s voice felt like a godsend. “I’m here!” I parried another blow, keeping the saber away from my cockpit. Out of the corner of my eye, I could make out an incoming shape. Assuming it to be Hass, I lined myself up to meet him. Devil’s saber came at my side, and I parried again.

At this point, I repositioned myself to take a more defensive stance. I parried the various attacks, keeping my focus tuned on an opening in Devil’s flurry of blows. All the while, I could only wait for Captain Hass to get closer and closer.

Finally, I saw my brief opportunity come when he swung too hard on a single saber strike. His saber went wide to my left, leaving his entire body briefly open. Seeing the window, I kicked up into the suit’s chest, knocking the blue hizack away. Knocked astray, Devil struggled to re-orient his suit. Instantly he righted himself and tried rushing me again, but this time I chose to dodge into the Captain’s flight path. I could see him in a base jabber. Sighing deeply, I braced myself for one of the trickier maneuvers I was taught. I knew one mistake could kill us both in a firey explosion, and that this was even harder than fighting Devi-

“Anaheim sub-flight unit detected. Commencing auto-docking now.” And with that, the gundam moved on its own, matching speeds with the base jabber and moving onto the MS mount. The gundam, without any action of my own, was operating with the skill of an ace pilot, treating the precise docking operation like it was no problem. It was almost depressingly anti-climactic. We connected and used the combined speed to blast past Devil.

“Angel, huh… Don’t think this is over. I have a feeling we’re not through with each other. We’ll meet again. And next time, you won’t be as lucky.”

I sighed. So I had myself an enemy. Again. And this one seemed to love his cliche lines. "We'll meet again"? It sounded like something from a third-rate japanese anime. I guess it was an unpleasant consequence of getting my brand new gundam. Overall, it was impressive. It had both speed and maneuverability like nothing I’d ever seen, and apparently an auto-pilot to boot Overall, I was impressed. I almost felt bad for stealing it. I would have given the designer tons of money for making something this incredible.

“So this was your big escape idea?” the captain asked.

I laughed. “Yeah. We can talk about it back at the ship. I’m pretty winded for now.” He laughed and agreed, impressed by my acquisition. I silently rested my eyes for the rest of the short trip back to the _Vulture_. For once, my rest felt content rather than a way of hiding. It was one of the best feelings in my life.

 


End file.
